


Partners

by TheWhovianQueen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:46:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWhovianQueen/pseuds/TheWhovianQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and John Watson already know each other, and this is how the Yard finds out just how intimately they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partners

Detective Inspector Lestrade groaned and rubbed his face for the tenth time in ten minutes. This was not going well at all.

The crime scene was utterly incomprehensible. Bits of fabric scattered about, spray paint adorning the walls, and a single foot lying in a pool of blood. His team was equally frustrated.

"Anderson, I need your report!" Lestrade yelled.

"Well, I haven't got one, now have I?" The man replied angrily. "This whole mess is useless!"

Donovan, to her credit, was actually trying. Snapping photos of the foot, she huffed, "Just get over here and work the camera. I'll do something else."

Lestrade sighed. Clearly, this was a job for a Consulting Detective. From the glares Anderson and Donovan were giving him, they reluctantly thought so, too.

***

 

"I fail to see why you couldn't have found someone else for forensics." Sherlock grumbled as he stood over the foot, Anderson right behind him scowling.

 

"Just give us your deduction, yeah?" Lestrade pleaded. Sherlock held up his hands for everyone to be silent. Then he glanced at Anderson meaningfully.

Anderson rolled his eyes, but left the room. Sherlock closed his eyes, thinking. Then they snapped open.

"Right. I'll need the number of the nearest dry cleaners to here, stat. This foot belonged to a designer who frequently had her clothes dry cleaned. And then I need someone to interview the man who lives three floors down, in apartment… 3A. Ask him where he was two days ago at precisely nine o'clock, AM."

Lestrade motioned to some people standing nearby, who scurried off to follow Sherlock's orders. A ringing was heard.

Sherlock checked his phone. He had received a text. Lestrade didn't watch, but he did look up when Sherlock stifled a gasp. He placed one foot behind him for support.

"Sherlock? Everything alright?" He asked, concerned.

Sherlock turned his face in Lestrade's direction, keeping his eyes on the phone. "Hmm? Oh yes, everything's fine. I need to go." He spun on his heel and strode out the door, Lestrade following after a moment's pause.

"Go? Go where? We need you to finish the investigation!" He begged. Sherlock kept walking.

"I'm sure your team can handle it. I cannot finish it at this moment, however. A matter requires my attention." Sherlock looked over his shoulder. "I should be busy for the next several weeks." Then he was gone, turning the corner onto the street.

Lestrade nodded more to himself than to Sherlock. Then, "Hang on, WEEKS?"

***

Lestrade opened the door to his office to find a man sitting in his seat. "Er… can I help you?"

The man smiled. "Greg Lestrade, I presume? Yes, you can assist me. I require all the files you have on the Severed Foot Case."

Lestrade looked at the man. "Um, I beg pardon? Those files aren't available to the public."

"I'm well aware of that." The man tapped the umbrella he was carrying. "However, my brother had been working on it and would like to review the information."

"You're brother being…" Lestrade prompted.

"Sherlock Holmes. Pardon me, I'm Mycroft. I'm his elder brother." The strange man stood up. "Now then, the files?"

Lestrade tried not to be alarmed at the thought of more than one Holmes. "Of course, one second." He left to retrieve the document. When he returned, he asked, "Where is Sherlock, anyway? He hasn't been 'round in nearly a week. It's not like him to leave a case unsolved."

 

Mycroft took the files. "He's rather busy. An old friend has come back to London. Sherlock is taking the opportunity to catch up. I'm sure you understand." He looked at Lestrade hard.

 

"Oh… I didn't think… well. That explains it." Lestrade was intrigued. As long as he had known Sherlock, he had never heard of the man having acquaintances, let alone "old friends."

Mycroft stared at him distastefully. "Indeed. I must be off. Farewell."

On his way out, Mycroft remarked, "And by the way, I would confront your wife. She's having an affair with your mailman."

***

Anderson and Donovan were nearly strangling each other when Lestrade slammed his hands down on his desk.

"Enough!" He yelled. "Both of you, enough! Obviously, this case is too difficult for even trained professionals. I'm going to go see if Sherlock's ready yet."

Anderson looked like he was about to object, but Donovan smacked him on the back of the head. "Oh for GOD'S sakes. It's clear that we aren't getting anywhere. Just let him get the Freak. You can moan about it all you like, but I may kill you if we have to struggle along like this much longer."

Lestrade looked at her, impressed. "Thank you, Sally. I'll be back in an hour or less. DO NOT destroy the Yard, please, Anderson."

Anderson glared but said nothing. Donovan rubbed her temple, obviously preparing herself for an encounter with the rude and arrogant Sherlock Holmes. Lestrade shrugged on his coat and took a police car to where he knew Sherlock lived, 221B Baker Street.

***

An older woman answered the door. "Hello, dearie. Here for Sherlock?"

Lestrade nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Is he in?" He realized the schoolboy response he had just uttered and quickly added, "It's police business."

She hesitated. "Well, come in if you'd like, but I'm not sure he's up for it today."

 

Lestrade came in, taking off his hat. The woman gestured to the stairs. "They're right up there. But please be quiet, they might be… busy."

 

"Oh, I won't interrupt Sherlock's experiments." Lestrade assured her, completely missing her insinuation. She just raised her hands and left.

Lestrade walked up the stairs, taking care not to step on loose-looking floorboards. Wouldn't want to spook Sherlock and have him accidentally blow up something.

As he walked into the main room, he opened his mouth-

And stopped dead.

Staring, unbelievingly, at the two people sitting on the couch. One was clearly Sherlock, and the other was… well, Lestrade didn't know. But it was evident that Sherlock knew him well. QUITE well.

Well enough to be kissing him gently, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Lestrade closed his mouth with a small snap. Neither of the men heard him. They were too wrapped up in each other.

Promptly turning on his heel, he walked out of the flat in a daze. It was a miracle he didn't creak on the stairs. Returning to the Yard without Sherlock raised some eyebrows, but luckily, Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, came in the next day, with all of Sherlock's deductions written in a notebook.

 

The last page said, If neighbor has been to Dublin recently, arrest neighbor.

***

Three serial suicides. Lestrade was just about at the end of his rope. Sherlock hadn't been in for, indeed, weeks, and now EVERYONE at the Yard felt slightly in the dark. Nobody really liked the Consulting Detective, he was arrogant and blunt and he liked to show off, but it was generally accepted that Sherlock Holmes was as much a part of the task force as Lestrade or Anderson or Donovan was. His absence had put everyone on edge because it made them realize just how much they needed him.

A young woman on the drugs squad knocked politely on the door of Lestrade's office. He looked up. "Come in."

She hovered in front of his desk. "Sir, some of us have been talking, and we thought, well, perhaps we should do a drugs bust on Sherlock's flat? He hasn't been in for awhile, and we all know what he used to do. What if he's overdosed?"

"Are… are you concerned about him?" Lestrade asked, fighting off a smirk.

The woman flushed, straightening. "Of course not, sir. It's everyone, really. We just feel we should keep the public's safety at top priority, and that includes Sherlock. I mean, Mr. Holmes."

Lestrade nodded. "Well, I appreciate you trying to do your job, however, I don't think a drugs bust is necessary. Sherlock is just busy. I've been to see him and he'll come back when he's ready. For now, don't you have work to do?"

"Yes, sir." The woman left. Lestrade peered out the glass to see her return to several others and say something. Everyone groaned.

***

"Lestrade, this new case. You're going about it all wrong." Lestrade jumped at the sound of a familiar voice behind him. "You should be questioning the witness, not the suspect! And it's obvious Georgie Winters is NOT the victim here."

Lestrade turned around to see Sherlock looking, as usual, bored. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Sherlock stated, looking at him.

Lestrade cracked a grin. "Welcome back, Sherlock."

Sherlock flashed a smile, then rushed back to the crime scene. (Which he was uninvited to, but nobody protested, as he knew they wouldn't.)

"The boot prints… this clay is from London, but only found in certain flowershops. And there's a hair snagged on that nail over there, how did no one notice?" Sherlock examined the floor. "The person who made these prints weighs approximately… 200 to 220 pounds, size 9."

Lestrade noticed a crowd had gathered around them. Silently waving everyone back to their jobs, he returned to listening to Sherlock.

"Sir? A man's here, says he's with the Freak." Donovan called to him. Lestrade raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

"You brought someone?"

"Yes, he's a loads better doctor than you lot. Army doctor, in fact. My new partner. Well, I say new. He's not really new. Just new to you." Sherlock didn't look up.

"Send him in!" Lestrade called back to Donovan, who motioned to someone standing out of view.

Lestrade tried not to gasp when the person stepped into the room. It was the man he had seen Sherlock… kissing.

"Hello, I'm John Watson." The man stuck out his hand. Lestrade noticed he carried a cane and had a slight limp.

"I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade, pleasure." He smiled, shaking John's hand. John looked around for Sherlock. Spotting the detective, he limped over beside him.

"Deduced anything interesting?" He asked by way of greeting.

"Loads. Tell me, what did the man say when you asked him if he was recently married to a woman thirty years his senior?"

"He said Piss off."

"And?"

"I… persuaded him into telling me that yes he was, but she broke it off two weeks ago."

"When you “persuaded” him, did it seem as if he had a previous wound to his sternum?"

"Hang on… yes, it did."

"Aha! I knew it."

"Of course you did, love."

"Wrong response, John."

"My mistake. What did you know, Sherlock, that you've known all along and that I just confirmed for you?"

"…"

"…"

"I love you, you know that?"

"Always, love."

Sherlock, who was crouched down, stood up and pressed his lips to John's briefly. Then he started a monologue about the conclusion of the case.

Lestrade blinked. That was quite possibly more shocking the second time around.

He noticed that, once again, a crowd had gathered. This time, he didn't shoo them away, but returned their looks of total confusion with one that said "Mind your own business and just go arrest the neighbor."

Sherlock finished his deductions. "Have you got all that, Lestrade?"

"He's brilliant, isn't he?" John gazed at Sherlock, who smiled at him a bit giddily.

"Yes, I've got it." Lestrade sent a few men off to deal with the suspect. "And nice to have you back with us, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at him. "Yes, I apologize for my absence. John had returned from Afghanistan because of his leg, so we took the opportunity to spend time together. However, he has decided to stay in London and share a flat with me, so he will accompany me on cases from now on."

"What, he your boyfriend?" Anderson, who had just entered the room, mocked.

Sherlock leveled his gaze directly at Anderson. "Fiancé, actually. Honestly, Anderson, are you so clueless as to not notice the ring?" He deadpanned.

Everyone looked at the two men's hands. Sure enough…

"Bloody hell, the Freak's got himself a husband." Donovan whistled. "Suppose I should congratulate you on your incredible self-restraint, Watson. Takes a lot to deal with that one."

Lestrade was a bit surprised that Sally wasn't harsh, but he figured that such a long time without Sherlock eased her acceptance of him. All that time with Anderson…

"Yes, well." John grinned wide. "I've had a lot of practice."

"So much practice." Sherlock rolled his eyes. John punched his shoulder.

"Ow!" Sherlock protested. John chuckled.

"Are we done here? We've still got to go grocery shopping…" He checked his watch.

Sherlock groaned. "But that's so boring!"

"Well, SOMEONE took all the perishables out of the fridge to make room for the frozen heads, so we've got to buy more."

"SOMEONE was doing an experiment."

"SOMEONE will be sleeping on the floor tonight if they don't go shopping with me."

"I've had worse."

"AND find that SOMEONE isn't so tolerant of certain experiments on SOMEONE's private areas…"

"RIGHT, shopping. Off we go. Goodbye, Lestrade!"

And with that, Sherlock practically ran out of the room, dragging a very smug John behind him.

Scotland Yard exchanged glances. One girl squealed. Someone gagged. Several others shook their head. Lestrade merely chuckled to himself and went to file paperwork.


End file.
